Lee
by Wyzeguy
Summary: Jubilee's movieverse origin.


Title: Lee   
Author: Wyzeguy   
E-Mail: Wyzeguy79@yahoo.com  
Summary: Jubilee becomes a student at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters.   
Universe: X-Men Movieverse (pre-movie)   
Rating: PG   
Disclaimer: Marvel and 20th Century Fox get all the credit. Me? I'm just some schmuck.   
Warnings: Language   
Notes: This is in response to Khaki's opening sentence challenge, "I was running away." I thought of several different stories, but this was the simplest. How did Jubilee end up at the mansion?   
Dedications: To Khaki, the source of the challenge, and to Perch, Jubilee fan extraordinaire.   
  
LEE   
Wyzeguy   
  
I was running away. I couldn't take it any more. I had to get away from my family.   
  
The Lee family owned a famous chain of Chinese restaurants all across So-Cal. They were rich, and they embodied the American Dream, because they were poor in China and managed to turn a tiny business into a huge franchise. The Lees went from Chinatown to Beverly Hills.   
  
Then I came along. For a while that was a good thing. I was the first member of my family to be born in America, so they named me Jubilation to celebrate their good fortune. After a while, I was the one who was tired of celebrating _their_ fortune. They seemed to boast their from-nothing Chinese heritage, but not once after they hit the big time did they go back and visit old frinds in Chinatown.   
  
And incidentally, I hated the name Jubilation. Luckily, my older brother took to calling me Jubilee, and it stuck.   
  
Do you know why I have this habit of carrying on and partying like nothing's ever wrong? Because that was my upbringing. Money and high society went to my parents' heads. To fit in, all they had to do was conveniently forget they were ever poor, except when it made for an amusing story. My brothers didn't mind, but I did. Because I was supposed to be the good little daughter and do no wrong. But if I did, they made sure I didn't live it down behind closed doors.   
  
By the time I was twelve, I'd developed a habit of sneaking out of the house and going to malls and street corners and alleys. Places where there were people who weren't rich and had to work for what they had. I was . . . I guess, fascinated by them. They were so different from what I'd grown up in. I'd ended up with a group of friends who frequented the mall a lot. To impress them, I told them I was homeless and secretly living in the mall. If I told them I was a rich kid, they'd have hated me like I hated myself. Didn't take long for them to see through my little act, but they didn't mind too much. They liked me anyway, which I thought was stupid and bizarre. I mean, everybody was supposed to care about how much money my family had, right?   
  
I ended up spending so much time at the mall that I forgot to be sneaky and cover my tracks. My family found out where I really was and grounded me. We ended up getting into this big argument about obeying your parents and not dishonoring the family and what they worked for . . . and I guess I got a little too pissed.   
  
My powers surfaced. It was two days before my thirteenth birthday. I found sparks shooting out of my fingers like fireworks in a Chinese street celebration or out of trick birthday candles. I somehow managed not to set fire to the penthouse, but my parents just saw it as more proof that I'd failed them as a daughter.   
  
They wouldn't let me leave my room. For three weeks. They even made an excuse to keep me out of school. The abuse was never physical, but it was sure as hell emotional.   
  
Finally, I overheard my folks discussing me outside my door. They decided to take me off of grounding, figuring I'd learned my lesson. My infrequent fireworks displays had stopped a week before, after all. Mother told my brother Yun to give me the news; they didn't want to do it in person.   
  
But by then, I was already packing my bags. When Yun opened the door, he found me leaving out the window. I told him not to make me stay. I couldn't stand any of this. He understood, and let me go if I promised to write to him.   
  
I promised, and officially became homeless. I had it all planned out. I was going to go live in the Hollywood Mall and duck security, just like the lie I'd tried to tell my friends. It was going to be so cool.   
  
Then a Bentley pulled up alongside me. The windows rolled down, and I saw a black lady with white hair and a bald white guy in the seats. They smelled of _money_. Enough money to make my parents look like the small-time fast-food cooks they used to be. See, by the time I was in third grade, I could gauge how rich people were just by looking at them. I even had a scale system from one to ten. Bill Gates would rate a ten; my parents would rate a six. White-hair and Baldy clocked a nine-point-five. That was reason enough to run fast in the other direction, because I didn't want what they were about. As soon as Baldy said, "Jubilation," I hauled ass.   
  
Then I realized I was going right back in the direction of my home, so I cut into a bad stretch of neighborhood. By then, I was already panicking, so I was throwing out fireworks left and right. That got the attention of the local gang, and I was backed into a corner. Their plans for me involved beating me down for being a mutant, and trying to see if they could get a thirteen-year-old Chinese girl to put out. Nice people, I thought. The kind of guys I'd want to take home and meet my folks. Not.   
  
I tried scaring them away with fireworks, but who the hell is afraid of a sparkler who can't even get her sparkles to do what she wanted them to do?   
  
Then it got real windy, and all the gangsta wannabes found themselves on the dumpsters, rooftops, and fire escapes. White-hair showed up, pushing Baldy in a wheelchair. Now that, I wasn't expecting. I also didn't expect Baldy to say:   
  
"Jubilee -- you prefer that name, correct? I know you're frightened. I know you're ashamed of yourself for more than just your mutancy. I know you have a home in which you are not welcome, and of which you want no part. I offer you a new home . . . a school where you will be allowed to learn about your gifts and about yourself. A school where you will be around other people your age, and where you will learn to accept yourself. I'm Charles Xavier. This is Ororo Monroe."   
  
So I accepted his offer, and went to live with him at his school. He didn't bother to tell me that it was a freakin' mansion! He and Ororo managed to talk me into not bolting from the car the moment I laid eyes on a house the size of a castle, and I soon met some of the students. Like Bobby Drake, Kitty Pryde, John Allerdyce, and Dani Moonstar.   
  
They all asked the same question: "What's up with the name Jubilee? Did your parents not like you?" It took all the strength I had to keep from setting the entire mansion on fire. Thanks, guys.   
  
* * * *   
  
"Impressive paper, Jubilee," Professor Xavier enthused. He made it a point to refer to the students by whatever nickname made them feel comfortable. "Your thoughts are well-composed, and despite a handful of spelling and grammar errors--"   
  
"Don't tell, me," Jubilee muttered, her eyes downcast as she sat in the chair in his office. "You really hate it, but you're tryin' to ease me into the bashing." She looked up at him. "Don't worry: I have thick skin."   
  
"If you're looking for a bad review, I'm afraid I have none to give." A smile. "You have grown into quite the promising young student in the years since you first enrolled. There was a time when you took every comment as a backhand, and refused to tell anyone about your former homelife, much less reveal it in an essay. You are a very bright, strong woman, Jubilee. This paper is evidence of that. I'm giving you an 'A'."  
  
Jubilee was speechless, but made up for it by celebrating in the hallway. With fireworks.  
  
END 


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